Our house, in the middle of love.

Mum and dada have never had much money.

They’re not stupid and could earn proper money I suspect, but they seem to like just getting by.

Mum wouldn’t think of leaving their little terraced house, and if she did move she has always said that she’d like to live in number 47.

Number 47 is just across the street from them, it’s where Mrs Jones lives with her mam.

Number 47 is the same size as mum’s house, the same layout, and if anything it’s a bit more shabby than theirs as there’s no dad to fix up stuff when it needs it.

Why mum aspires to living there, a whole forty feet away from their current front door is that number 47 has a view out the back that stretches for miles down across the hills to Northumberland. That house has a view while no others do for the simple fact that the house that was behind it was demolished after a great big hole appeared in the living room floor.

How funny is that? Not the hole, although that’s funny enough, but the fact that that’s what mum would most like. The interesting thing is to ask her why she’d not live in the street with the demolished house in. She wouldn’t live there because people are strange down there! It’s a whole street away and people there are funny.

Imagine my friends at college who have come to study at Newcastle from Delhi, or South Africa or wherever, and there’s my mum who would move across the street, but not two streets away.

When I was in my teens that attitude used to really annoy me, but now I kind of love them for it.


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